Watson's Diary
by The Phantomess of the Opera
Summary: Watson recounts a chapter in his life that perhaps he is not too proud of...
1. Watson's Diary

I have actually finished this story but will release the chapters every few days, depending on who reads. Also forgive me, my writing skills aren't as good as I'd like them to be, therefore the story is very limited in how style accurate it is. But I hope you enjoy it anyway.

Another note: sorry for the varying length of the chapters, and the shortness of this one.

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The events of which I am about to recount I find quite uneasy to write about, but nevertheless I will all the same, beginning with an excerpt of my diary as an introduction.

**Watson's Diary**

It would seem that day by day I find myself more and more tolerant of Mr Sherlock Holmes, his arrogance, his frankness with others, his disregard of others in general. I don't know how I put up with it. Just the other day he'd ignored me when I'd asked him to come to dinner. Usually such things would not upset me so easily, but after a week of such behaviour I was not in the mood to tolerate it. But nevertheless I waited until I was back in my own room before allowing my agitation to surface.

Lately he'd been working on a rather difficult case after a few weeks with no work, so obviously I should have known better than to interrupt him. But as usual his appetite has been replace with mental intrigue. Even as I write this now he has yet to eat something today and it is almost 9 o'clock in the night. I must say that my concern for him has increased immensely. It has even been affecting my own eating habits.

But that is not the reason for this entry. As of late I've started to notice something about myself. Something that I'm not entirely certain of just yet, but soon enough it will become clear.

I am ashamed to even recount this even in my own diary, knowing that (well, I hope) no one else will be reading this. The issue started to surface at the beginning of the case Holmes is currently working on when he asked me not to participate in this case.

As of late I have begun to question my reason, my motives for being so loyal towards my friend Holmes. It is true that I am indeed loyal in nature, but to put up with such behaviour towards me, I am beginning to question my actions. I am beginning to think that perhaps there is something more in our friendship, or at least what I am wanting out of it. Perhaps I am confusing my loyalty with such feelings. I hope so, yet somehow I don't. Sometimes when I reflect upon these feelings I find that part of me does not mind, even wants it.

If that were the case, if these feelings that I think I have are real, then perhaps that would explain my increasing agitation, yet increased tolerance towards my dear friend.

In any case, though I am unsure, I am hoping that this confusion or my feelings are not being conveyed, as I know Holmes will figure me out faster than I can. Perhaps that would explain his callousness towards me. I do not know.

My only option at this point is to carry on as things are and hope that I can sort this out soon, before it destroys me inside.


	2. Exclusion

**Nice to know people are reading. Again, apologisies for my lack of writing skills. Just pretend it's written better. Anyway, enjoy.... I hope**

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The rest of this will be a recount of the events that occurred about the time of the diary entry. Please bear in mind that the events to which I am referring are not those of the case, but to those, which occur between Holmes and myself.

**Exclusion**

It was a Monday, the start of a new week, and already I could hear Holmes moving about so I promptly got ready for the day ahead.

Upon reaching the sitting room, I found Holmes sitting in his chair, waiting. Not for me, no, someone else as made evident by Holmes' disinterest in me.

"Good morning, Holmes." I said, taking a seat opposite him in my own chair, eyeing a letter in his hands.

"Good morning, Watson." He replied, looking up from the letter. "It arrived only a few minutes ago. We shall be expecting a guest soon."

I took the piece of paper as he handed it to me, noticing the messy, rushed hand in which the letter was written. I read over it quickly. It was in the hand of a woman who was in a hurry to finish the letter. Splotches of ink and small rips decorating the page further added to the allusion of a hurried letter. The content was congruent.

"So what do you think, Watson?" said Holmes as I looked up after finishing the letter.

I refrained from expressing my alarm and discomfort of the letter. "It was obviously rushed, as anyone could see without reading the content. According to what was written it would seem that someone was after her, an angry husband perhaps due to the use of such casual terms. And there is an implication that she will be visiting us soon in an attempt to seek some sort of protection. Though I'm unsure as to what protection we could possibly offer." It was a stupid remark, that last one, but I'd let it slip anyway.

"Good observations, though this letter leaves little to the imagination. Though protection?" said Holmes as he raised a brow. "Perhaps, but perhaps not. Instead of protection she may be seeking some way of stopping or finding this person?"

I had prepared myself for some long talk on my sloppiness but that was all I received, and I was truly thankful for it. "Holmes," I sighed, "my mind is not as quick these days I fear. I apologise."

He smiled at me as he lit his pipe, which I was surprised he hadn't already done. "I am being lenient today, as I think I shall work on this case alone. This one appears simple, and you've been quite busy with your practice lately, have you not?"

I felt quite hurt hearing those words. But once Holmes had made up his mind, nothing more could be said on the matter. "I see." I stood, handing the letter back to my friend. "My presence shall not be needed then." I then left the room to fetch my jacket, leaving the house after.

I wasn't sure what to think. Holmes had said he didn't need me on the case. Not that he ever did, so it would mean he didn't want me on the case, he did not want me working with him. But I couldn't figure out why it hurt me so much.

I walked the streets of London, pondering why Holmes didn't want me on the case, and why I'd been so angry with this. Why had I acted that way? I dare say, though, that many must have seen me as a mad man, travelling the streets aimlessly, frowning, and possibly muttering obscenities to myself. What a sight indeed!

Eventually I came to a park, which I'd frequented often during my times of confusion, stress or doubt. Often I'd find the peace of mind necessary to overcome whatever it was that was hindering me at the time, but somehow I doubted I would this time. The hours passed and I was still there, still confused. Seldom did I leave the park without resolving the issue at hand.

Needless to say I did not return to our house on Baker Street for a long while.

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It was rather late when I finally returned to Baker Street. Holmes was, as always, in his study smoking away as he read, worked, thought or hypothesised. I did not disturb him, knowing the moods it would set him in if I were to. Instead I went to my room and went straight to bed. It wasn't until morning that I realised I hadn't eaten that day. Had Holmes' dismissal really have that much effect on me? Obviously it did.

The next morning I found myself up early once again, partly due to the fact that I'd not eaten the previous day and my stomach was now protesting, and partly because I'd had trouble sleeping during the night.

So, exhausted, I got up and readied myself for the day before leaving my room to eat breakfast. Funnily enough, though, I wasn't feeling hungry by the time I reached the kitchen. Even so I had to eat something. I ended up with a piece of bread, fresh from the bakery near the house, with a light spread of jam on the top.

As I sat in my chair in the living room to eat it, with a cup of tea of course, Holmes entered the room in his usual way, confidently, arrogantly, without care as to who was in the room. However when his eyes found me already in the room he slowed his pace and eventually stopped about half way to his chair.

"Good morning, Watson." He said softly, as if unsure of himself. It was strange to hear.

"Good morning to you too, Holmes." I managed. The anger that I'd felt yesterday had subsided, but since then, during the night it had been replace by confusion and insecurity towards Holmes. I didn't know what else to say, except: "Will you be joining me for breakfast?"

As usual, though, he gave no response as to whether or not he'd be eating breakfast, but rather sat in his chair and just looked at me for a long while before talking. "Watson, I wanted to apologise for my decision, but I believe it's for the best this time. Do you understand?"

I nodded. "I trust your decision and won't question it." I didn't pry any further on the subject, nor about his breakfast.

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**I'll post the next one when I feel anough people are reading. I didn't with the first chapte because there was like only 500 words or something.**


	3. Anorexia

Sorry, just a short chapter. Thanks for reading so far

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****Anorexia**

The case given to Holmes seemed to be a lot more work than first thought to be. He was in the study a lot, working hard, or out to investigate possible suspects or contacts. The woman who had come to Holmes for help had frequented the house too, at times staying in the guest room when it was considered too late for her to leave. And I admit I did not like her presence.

The woman, a Mrs Mary Smith, was a beautiful woman. However, it wasn't hard to see past that mask to who she truly was – a harsh, selfish, greedy woman. It was obvious that this time she'd gotten on the wrong side of her husband who was now out to get her. But despite what type of person she was, she'd presented Holmes with a problem and what choice had he but to help her, especially considering the type of danger she was in.

On such days that she stayed at the house I avoided remaining too long, pre-occupying myself with my practice, or taking rather long walks. If she were in the kitchen, I'd avoid eating for as long as she was there. Shamefully, though, this habit wasn't impacting on my eating as I wasn't really eating much at all. This time I was wasting away too, not just Holmes, and I wasn't even on the case.

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"My, Watson, you're not looking so well these days." Holmes commented as we sat at the kitchen table ignoring our breakfast.

I looked up at him from the newspaper I was reading. "Am I? Well I suppose I'll be a happier man with that woman out of our lives." I replied without much interest. "You too are not looking your best. It isn't hard to tell when Holmes is on a case." There was a bit of anger in my voice, but I didn't care.

To my surprise, instead of pointing it out he agreed with my comment. "Yes, I suppose not." He then stood and left his untouched breakfast without another word.

It was then that I'd realised that there hadn't been much of a word between us since the start of this case. There was such a tension between us now and I couldn't help but feel at fault. Was I jealous of the woman?

But still the days went on as they had been, slowly, quietly, and awkwardly.

And finally it was over. As it turned out, the woman had slept with another man, which had angered the husband. The husband, Richard Smith, was a high figure underground, yet none of which we'd heard. The man was in hiding, using his ties to keep an eye on his wife, threatening her with letters and occasionally sending men out to knock on her door at night. But before long, Holmes had located the man and brought him to justice. That wasn't to say the wife had been left to roam free. She was wanted on several accounts of fraud and theft.

I was so relieved when the case was over, though. Everything would return to normal, Holmes would start eating again, and so would I. It was the first night in a long time I got a decent, uninterrupted sleep.


	4. Conversations

**Thanks to everyone who's been reading so far. Here's your next chapter**

**Conversations**

It had been almost two weeks since the case of Mary Smith, and yet Holmes was still spending copious amounts of time in his office. Along with this, he still wasn't eating. It worried me that my appetite was once again plunged to a bear minimal. Yet if Holmes was like this, then he must have found another case - one he hadn't told me about...

"Holmes, have you got another case?" I'd asked my friend as we sat quietly in the living room in our chairs.

But my question didn't seem to rouse him from his concentration. He continued staring into the fire pensively, fingers interlocked over his stomach.

I waited a little while longer before deciding not to pry, trusting that it was for a good reason he kept the answer from me. So I left the detective to his own devices and I went to bed to get another night of restless sleep.

The following day I found Holmes in his study. We had a brief conversation from which I found out that he was no longer working on a case. But he did not answer my question as to why he was still behaving like he was still working on one.

I left his study feeling rather concerned and even more confused than before. I spent the next few days trying to figure out what was happening. Why was Holmes acting the way he was?

During this time I was also still trying to figure out my own concerns, my feelings. What were they? Were they just confusion?

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I picked up the tray I'd prepared for Holmes. It was a simple dinner, but at least it was something and I was hoping that since I went to the trouble of making it for him he would eat it.

When I reached the study, I knocked on the door and waited a few moments before opening it (knowing he wouldn't answer).

"Holmes, I've made dinner for you." I said as I entered the sickly room.

It was full of smoke and papers were everywhere. I could hardly breathe or walk. But I persevered and placed the tray on his desk. "Please eat something." I almost begged.

Holmes didn't even look at me. He continued staring aimlessly out the curtained window.

"Holmes!" I said, raising my voice. "Don't just ignore me!"

He finally looked at me for the first time in a number of days. He then eyed the food briefly before staring back out the window.

"Holmes!" I repeated. "Please, you've been like this for over two week now and you've not had a case since. Why are you still acting like this? Is something wrong?" I couldn't keep the alarm out of my voice. "I would have-"

"Watson." He finally interrupted, his voice soft and sound quite weak. "Please leave." He said.

"Holmes-"

"Leave now!" He said, considerably louder, without looking at me.

I felt anger build up in me. "Holmes, look at me at least. I don't have to tolerate such behaviour. I don't know how or why I have for so long. You have been a real try of my patience as of late! If something were bothering you this much I would have thought you'd have the decency to confide in me or at least behave better. You've eaten nothing these past number of weeks, and said very little to me. Do you think I enjoy watching you deteriorate?"

He didn't answer me, he didn't react to my words; he just sat there.

I continued when he gave no response. "I was only concerned at first, because this is what you are usually like when on a case. But when I learnt you were not, I became worried. Not concerned, worried. I don't know what to do either because you won't talk to me. And now you won't even look at me!" I just didn't know what to say to him. "If you aren't going to talk to me or look at me anymore, I have half a mind _to_ leave - leave Baker Street. It would seem you no longer want me around anyway seeing as I wasn't wanted on that case." I waited only a moment before turning to leave. As I stepped out the door I turned back. "Please, just eat something." I said, very weakly.

I then returned to my room without eating either and went to bed for another night of restless sleep. I was sure I would soon die.

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I didn't know what time it was when I began to stir, but it was still in the night as there was no sign of dawn yet. Waking up more I was aware of a presence in the room giving me a fright before I could figure out who it was.

"Watson…" Came the familiar voice of my friend. It sounded weak, defeated and despairing.

"Holmes? What in heaven's name has you in my room at such an hour?" I asked, my anger from earlier gone and forgotten. Sitting up I squinted as my eyes adjusted. I could just make out Holmes' figure next to my bed.

"My apologies, but you sleep so restlessly as of late." He said.

The implication didn't hit me straight away. "You've been in my room other nights?" I asked, unsure if I wanted an answer.

"No." He said quickly. "But I hear you at night, moving about constantly." He paused. "You weren't really considering leaving Baker Street, were you?" He asked me.

I was quite taken aback. "Sit, Holmes." I said, moving my feet so there was a space for him. He did so promptly. "Why do you ask such a question?" I then realised to what he was referring. "Holmes, I…" But nothing came out. I couldn't finish the sentence.

When I didn't answer, he stood. "I see. I'm sorry to bother you at such an hour." He said.

"Can we discuss this in the morning?" I asked as he went to leave.

"I'm unsure if I'll still have the courage." And he left. I could've sworn I'd heard a sob in his voice.

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I spent the most of that night going over what had occurred, but by morning I was unsure if it even happened. So I decided that if Holmes didn't say anything, then there was nothing to be said.

I found Holmes in his chair in the living room that morning, smoking his pipe quietly. He was still in his robe and it looked as if he'd been there the whole night. I did not enter the room. Instead I left the house and went for a walk to try clear my mind.

When I returned, Holmes was once again in his study doing whatever it was he was doing. After what transpired the previous day I decided against disturbing him again.


	5. Confrontation

**Last chapter guys! Thanks for reading!**

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**Confrontation**

Two more days passed that I allowed Holmes to spend in his study smoking and not eating. I missed his company dreadfully, and my worries and concerns worsened with each hour. But the two days more I'd allowed to pass gave me the time I needed to come to a conclusion about my feelings. Such shame I felt, how could I ever possibly live with myself? I was beginning to doubt if I could ever look him in the eye again, or even be in his presence.

But as night came again I became concerned with Holmes. So, pushing aside my fear and shame, I again prepared him a light dinner in hopes he would eat something, since the last tray I'd prepared went untouched.

After a light knock on the door to Holmes' study and a moment's wait, as usual, I opened it. "Holmes." I said as I entered, déjà vu hitting me hard. "I made a light dinner for you. Please eat this one. You can't go on like this."

He watched me as I approached his desk and placed the food on it. He then looked back at his curtains.

I waited a while before saying anything more. I knelt down on the opposite side of his desk after feeling my weakened body starting to give. The sight of him was so upsetting I couldn't hold myself up.

"What's wrong?" I asked, hoping it would coax an answer from him. It hurt knowing he would probably never tell me what it was that had him in such a state. "I wish you would tell me. I can't bear to see you like this. I'm so worried." But when I got no response from him I gathered all my strength and stood, turning to leave.

As I walked towards the door I was glad I was no longer facing him, as tears fell down my cheeks.

"Watson." He called. "Wait."

I stopped, trying to compose myself as I heard Holmes stand up from his chair. I then turned around to come face to face with him. The bags under his eyes, the hollowing of his cheeks, the tautness of his skin; my poor Holmes… The tears began to swell up again and I shut my eyes hard expecting some unfavourable response from him.

"I'm sorry." He said as he wiped away my tears. "I didn't want you on the case because I didn't want you to be in any danger. The nature of the case, the situation it would have put you in, I didn't want you a part of it."

I opened my eyes slowly after hearing those words. "I'm sorry too." His fingers were so thin and hard against my face. I gently removed his hand from my cheek, almost sobbing at the sight of it. "Goodness, look at you..." I met his eyes again and we said nothing.

For what seemed like hours we stared into each other's eyes. I could see how tired he was. His grey eyes were laced with red, the bags accenting it. I inwardly cursed myself for allowing him to deteriorate so much.

"I'm a damned soul." He finally said, lowering his eyes. "A damned soul!"

I felt shame running through me. _So am I..._

Then suddenly Holmes leaned forward and pressed his lips against mine. I was shocked at first and pulled away to see Holmes' face becomed shadowed by shame and guilt. "We both are." I whispered, lifting his chin up towards my mouth. "Both damned souls." I then pressed my lips against his as he'd done to mine only moments before.

His lips were so thin and dry, his body so fragile against me. He was so precious to me, how did I ever let him become like this?

He was the first to pull away and he rested his forehead against mine. "Watson, I'm sorry. Please don't leave our house." He said, tears beginning to fall down his cheeks too.

I was so overrun with emotion that at first I couldn't even distinguish them. It was my turn to wipe his tears away. "I would never leave. Not while you're here."

We spent a long while in each other's arms in his study just enjoying the moment, knowing this would probably be the first and only time we would ever be able to.


	6. Watson's Diary Epilogue

**SURPRISE!!! I couldn't just leave it at that, though it would have been fine. Just something to some up the ending, as an epilogue does.**

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Epilogue

An extract from Watson's dairy:

As of late I can't sleep. Restless nights in bed spent fruitlessly pondering about what had occurred. Indeed it has been a while, yet it still plagues me. I do not regret what had happened, even if I am somewhat ashamed. What has been keeping me up is thought that we will never be able to express our love again, especially not in such a manner. While things have returned to a certain normality - Holmes is on a different case almost every month and my eating habits are stable - it is not the same as it once was, definitely not.

Almost a year had passed since Holmes and I had kissed. But unlike books and fairytales, our relationship became awkward. Neither of us had ever contemplated such a relationship before. At least, I hadn't. And due to the nature of it our home situation became awkward too.

I admit, shamefully, that I had indeed wanted Holmes in my bed on more than one occasion, but it would seem that neither of us were willing to take another step. We'd not kissed since that day; we rarely even make eye contact anymore.

I do suppose it is for the best though. What would society think of us? A pair of fools, damned souls as Holmes had said.

But despite all this, I have found that it has enabled me to appreciate such simple things that I never had before. Every time our skin makes contact, the rare occasion that our eyes meet and our evenings together in the living room – I savour it. I savour each and every moment of it.

My dear Holmes, if only for one night we could forget about the rest of society and escape into our own little world, in our house, together. If only you would allow it. If only I had the courage.

Perhaps someday…


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